


Terrors and Trauma

by prometheanTactician



Category: Homestuck, Mobsterswitch - Fandom, Problem Sleuth - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Past Child Abuse, Stabdads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:36:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2454971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prometheanTactician/pseuds/prometheanTactician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peccant Scofflaw has a nightmare that doubles as a memory, and is unsure if it was induced by the Horror Terrors, or his own trauma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terrors and Trauma

It is 2am.

You are curled up, crying, arms over your face to shield it from the oncoming blows. The tears make it worse, but they just keep coming. You are screaming your words as you beg and plead. You try to make a break for the door but your body is heavy and you drag it too slowly. Your assailant is right behind you at all times.

It is 3am.

You are scrambling down a shabby, poorly lit hallway. Your feet are lead and the carpet sucks them downwards as you drag yourself along. He is shouting behind you. You reach the stairs and he throws you down them. You thought you’d been making good progress.

Your mother sees as you land at the bottom. She shakes her head and turns away.

It is 4am.

You wake up from it all, gasping and wide-eyed in the pitch blackness. The whispers in your ears are the barest echo of the enraged screaming and your own begging. There’s a tingling on your arms where you were grabbed and dragged upright. You realize you’d been dreaming. You are no longer the young boy from the dream. You are Peccant Scofflaw, leader of the Twilight Scoundrels. You fear no one, and no one can hurt you. It doesn't make your heart stop racing.

You sit up in bed, drag a hand over your face and try to school yourself into calmness. You can’t tell if the nightmare was induced by the Terrors, or from your own trauma. In your experience, the two are rarely mutually exclusive. The Terrors feed off of your pain and your pain is amplified by Them. It’s a vicious circuit with the purpose of powering a downward spiral. But you can’t afford to sink just yet.

There’s no hope of getting back to sleep, even if these were hours you were used to. You are usually more nocturnal, but having a small child has forced you to sleep more at night so you can tend to her needs during the day. Even if that wasn't the case, you’re too disturbed by the vivid dream. Even as your heartbeat hits a normal pace and you catch your breath, it leaves something twisted and hollow in your chest. Not fear like in the dream. You are well acquainted with the fear of the victim, and this is not that. It’s something else. The fear of becoming the attacker, maybe, but that’s stupid. You’re a dangerous mob boss. You kill people, hurt them, as a fucking career. You are an attacker and you love it.

But even as you think that, you know that’s not where the fear is based.

Without really thinking about it, you slide out of bed. People generally expect you to sleep naked, but that isn’t really functional when the shadow magic is constantly freezing you from the inside out. You don’t bundle yourself up like Inny does, but the sleep pants and t-shirt are still much more than you’d probably wear without the magics interference. Horror Terrors ruin literally everything. Still, you pad down the hallway quietly. It isn’t the ratty, torn up thing from your dream. It’s carpeted, the nice stuff, soft under your feet. The walls aren’t dented or ripped apart or bloodstained. Your house is actually nice. You never quite realized the contrast until now.

The contrast continues when you get to her room. She’s sleeping soundly, peacefully, curled up in her bed. At her age you were already sleeping fitfully, flinching awake at the slightest sound. You were scared. She’s not. She feels safe here, because she is safe here. She’s safe, and that’s all the proof you should need, but you continue to stand there in the doorway. You feel creepy, but she’s just so small. Barely six years old, already so smart, and already a little bit scheming. She laughs and smiles, at you and around you. She runs to you when she’s scared, not away from you, because you’re not the thing she’s scared of. You’re never the thing she’s scared of, or the thing you’re scared of. You are not your father.

You still can’t move.

“Father?” You cringe, inwardly groaning. You didn’t mean to wake her. She sits up, rubbing at an eye, and jesus she’s just a kid. Just a little kid. How could anyone lay their hands on something so fucking defenseless? “Is everything alright?” If this was you and your father, way back when, you’d already be apologizing in hopes of warding off a rampage. She trusts you more than that. Hell, she probably sees no reason why she shouldn’t. There is no reason why she shouldn’t.

“Ev’rythin’s fine, kid.” But your voice is hoarse and breaks. You clear your throat, hoping she’ll mistake it for you just being tired. You can’t see her expression in the dark, but you can tell she doesn’t.

“Did you have a bad dream?” You don’t answer her. You open your mouth to, but the entire situation is so unbelievably odd and vaguely funny that you just can’t. “You can stay in here with me, if you’re scared.” You have to laugh a bit at that, because she is absolutely serious. The twisting thing in your chest loosens a bit with the small laugh, and you make your way into the room.

“Thanks darlin’.” Kanaya moves aside to make room for you, and you’re really glad you got a big enough bed for her. Only the best for your daughter. You lay down and she curls up again at your side, yawning as she immediately prepares to go back to sleep.

“It’s okay. Just don’t let it happen every night.” She’s out almost immediately, and it amazes you how at ease she is with you. The disturbed feeling the dream conjured up dissipates and, despite your earlier certainties that you’d get no more sleep tonight, you eventually begin to drift off again. You are not your father, and you never will be.

For once, you are absolutely certain that the Terrors are wrong about something. You will never hurt your little girl, and god help anyone that does.


End file.
